


Bad Timing

by paxnirvana



Category: One Piece
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-02
Updated: 2010-10-13
Packaged: 2017-10-12 15:40:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/126463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paxnirvana/pseuds/paxnirvana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Interruptions and snark are a way of life on the Going Merry.</p><p>Contains "Bad Timing" and the follow up "Lessons Taught".</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bad Timing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Interruptions are a way of life on the Going Merry.

It was really starting to annoy the shit out him that the bastard always approached him in the kitchen. And at exactly the wrong times

"Shitty swordsman," he hissed shoving hard at broad shoulders. "Not now."

"What?" was the predictably inelegant response. Complete with stupidly open mouth and narrowed, angry look. He almost kicked the bastard in the head, but his pants were halfway down his thighs already and he didn't want to tear the zipper on yet another pair of pants a week out of their last port and away from a decent tailor.

"I'm busy, asshole," he snarled. "Later."

The broad hands that had shoved down the back of his pants just clenched possessively around his butt cheeks, making him wince slightly for the pinch as his half-hard cock was ground carelessly against the buttons beneath the fly of the other's pants.

"You're always busy," the moron said with a decidedly sulky look on his face. "I want to fuck."

"Of course I'm busy," Sanji snorted and shoved harder, mentally tallying if this little delay would spoil the sauce simmering on the back of the stove. Not yet. But soon. "Is your hand broken?"

"I want to fuck, not jerk off."

"Later." He glared warningly.

"Now." The other matched his glare sullenly.

Annoyance was perilously close to full-blown anger now, fanned by stifled lust of his own. Getting all wound up and then having to stop to take bread out of the oven just before it burned was getting hell-all frustrating. Didn't the bastard understand timing?

"That's it! Out!" he snarled, twisting to get out of the other man's hold. But Zoro seemed to have sprouted as many hands as an octopus and he just barely managed to put some space between them by grabbing one hand and twisting fingers back. The other one was still plastered to his ass, holding on tight however.

"Out of my kitchen you shitty bastard, and stay out when I'm working. If I don't work, nobody eats -- particularly the Captain --so go. Now."

The other's stare grew darker, more dangerous for a moment, but he met it steadily, with steel in his own gaze. Determined.

The hand on his ass fell away, skimming across his hip possessively, only to shift forward to try to catch his cock. But he was ready for that and swiveled his hips aside, dodging the move so that Zoro caught only air, then he got his knee up and his still-shod foot was threatening the other's groin.

"Damn it, you shitty green-haired bastard! Enough!" he snapped, pressing his foot closer.

"Watch it, stupid cook!"

"Yes! Cook! Who is currently not cooking but being groped while a sauce is about to burn on the stove. So get the fuck out and let me cook, bastard!"

He thought for a split second that the idiot was going to try to force the issue. With him. Which would mean death for one of them -- and he vowed it wouldn't be him. But then the swordsman whirled away, shoving away from him violently enough for Sanji to stagger back against the counter with a grunt. Then the idiot was slamming out the door to the deck without a backwards look.

A little shaken despite himself, Sanji ran a hand through his hair. He let out an impatient breath, then straightened his clothes, tucking and zipping himself back into order, twisting his apron back into proper position. He left the tie off, however, only bothering to pick it up off the counter from where Zoro's impatient toss had thrown it and tuck it into his pocket.

Later he'd show the swordsman timing... he'd make him beg for it, the big idiot. On his knees. Then he'd come all over the bastard's face anyway and make him lick every drop up afterwards. Lip curling as he dug a bent cigarette out of his pocket, he cast an assessing gaze on the simmering sauce on the stove as he lit up.

It was still good. Not burned, not overcooked.

Which was just lucky for Zoro, Sanji thought as he went back to work, an anticipatory grin on his face.

\--end--


	2. Lessons Taught

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Interruptions and snark are a way of life on the Going Merry.

"Asshole," the cook said in a low growl, looming over him in the crow's nest. Zoro blinked up sleepily for an instant before his nerves snapped to wary attention.

The cook was standing with his hands in his pants pockets, his coat buttoned primly closed, a glowing cigarette dangling from the corner of his down-turned mouth as he glared at him from beneath golden hair that had been washed silver by the moonlight.

It was a dangerous pose, Zoro knew from long experience. Those long, powerful legs could hit anything inside the crow's nest with deadly accuracy and stunning force. His arm tightened subtly around the three scabbards cradled against his chest, but he made no overt move of his own. Yet.

"What's your problem?" he snarled back, even though he had a pretty good idea what had stiffened the other man's spine. That afternoon, in the kitchen. Not his best idea, but he'd been coming down off a hard workout – 1000 reps with the full weights – and he was always dangerously horny after one of those. But he'd actually been surprised he'd gotten as far with the cook as he had; usually the damn tease stopped him cold even before the tie came off.

"My problem is _you_ , you grabby bastard. What else?" A hand came out of a pocket to lift the cigarette from between curled lips. A tight stream of smoke followed as the other looked down his nose at him. His own gaze narrowed in response. "Your timing sucks, as usual."

"C'h. Dinner survived; even Luffy got enough."

"Barely." The glare grew sharper, even veiled by smoke. "I'm serious, shithead. Stay out of the kitchen when I'm working from now on or that's it."

He sneered back, pulse leaping in something that damn well wasn't alarm. No way. "But that's all the fucking time!"

"So?" The lean shoulders lifted in a shrug beneath the jacket. "Deal with it. I'm not here to entertain you, shitty seaweed-head. I _work_ on this ship."

He didn't want to listen to bullshit ultimatums with his nerves strung as tight as they were; a fight would be a bad idea under these conditions. But what burned even worse was that he knew the cook was hot for him too, no matter how much he bitched about it. Even if the bastard still smugly picked up women in port every chance he got, Zoro recalled with disgust. Not that it really _mattered_ to him what else the cook did that is… Zoro snarled then and shifted forward, fully intending to leave the crow's nest even though it was still his watch.

But before he could do more than close his hand around a corded hilt, a heavy shoe struck the upraised black scabbard, shoving it back into his chest forcefully; pinning him hard against the side of the crow's nest and trapping his arms.

" _Oi._ I'm not done with you, sword-boy," Sanji snarled, leaning down flat onto his own thigh with that nearly unbelievable flexibility of his so that his face was practically in Zoro's even as he stood over him. His weight pressed in harder at the motion, squeezing the lacquer scabbard painfully against Zoro's breastbone. The cook's other hand was even still in his pocket, his balance infuriatingly perfect.

And fuck him, but he couldn't _not_ look. Gaze fixing on the blatant flex of strong thighs in the tight slacks, drifting over the raised knee and the line of thigh leading up under the tails of the other man's coat. It was enough to make Zoro's blood race, his thoughts whirl off into the same sweaty-dark coppery-scented place that they'd been earlier that day. Blank and yet focused, rational thought almost suspended.

Such long, supple legs the cook had… and the asshole knew full well what the sight of his legs did to Zoro, the shitty cocktease. Zoro muttered under his breath, frowning darkly, but still unable to tear his gaze away.

Apparently he didn't mutter quietly enough, because a smugly confident laugh left the cook then, making him glance up into the other's face sharply.

"Think so? But it's no tease if I'm not done with you yet, idiot," the cook purred huskily. Then he whipped the hardened toe of his shoe across Zoro's face, sending pain exploding through the swordsman's cheek.

"Fuck!" Zoro snarled, rolling with it just enough to minimize the damage. But the blow still hurt. And the shock made his heart leap, his already hard cock pulse eagerly in echo of the blow itself. His lungs caught on a shuddering breath as he crouched against the side of the crow's nest, one hand full of swords braced on the deck, his legs gathered beneath him as he watched the other man intently, wary of another strike.

"How bad do you want it, shithead?" the cook was saying now, his foot still held up threateningly, poised. Standing effortlessly on one leg despite the constant low roll of the Going Merry amplified to a distinct sway all the way up here on the top of the mast. Ready to strike in that sure, graceful way that made Zoro's belly clench tight with need. Such deadly agility. Such gratifying strength. "You want me? You want my ass?"

"Stupid cook," Zoro snarled back, glaring, waiting. Blood throbbed furiously in his throat, in his ears, in his injured cheek. Wanting to leave, but unable to force his traitorous body to move: his own desire far too demanding now – heightened perilously by the earlier denial -- to let him overcome it again. No matter how much of a prick the other was being.

"I don't think you've earned that much yet, dumbass," Sanji purred, hands moving to the buttons of his coat as he slowly lowered his foot to the deck again. Zoro watched, hands flexing on the scabbards in his grip as the coat fell open under that deft touch. He swallowed hard as the coat was spread wide, revealing lean waist and hips. Then the hands moved almost immediately down to the heavy belt that somehow held up the low-slung slacks on those lean hips. The buckle chimed softly as it swung free, nearly drowning out the sound of the zipper descending beneath.

Zoro swallowed hard, unable to tear his gaze away as Sanji reached inside his pants and pulled out his already hard cock. Moonlight shone on the hooded tip, shiny with fluid. The cook lifted the cigarette still in his other hand and stuck it between his lips. Then reached out with the freed hand and threaded his fingers into the bristle of hair on top of Zoro's head.

He leaned into the contact, licking his lips in anticipation, thought fading into that blood-hot, hazy realm again. But he froze abruptly, still a few inches away from his goal, when strong fingers tangled tight, gripping and holding him in place.

"You haven't earned this either, you know," the cook murmured. And Zoro was painfully aware that the other was watching him watch his cock from beneath hooded lids but was unable to tear his gaze away. "Especially after nearly messing up dinner."

"So?" he shot back, swallowing hard against the betraying saliva filling his mouth. "You still want me to suck it, right?"

The laugh was low and rich and send a bolt of angry lust straight down to his groin. "Oh I do. But I want to hear you ask for it first. _Nicely_."

Indignant fury washed through him, making him surge to his knees, slit gaze fixed on the mocking gleam of the other's eye beneath that improbably curled eyebrow. His hand tensed on the hilt of Yubashiri, the other one flexing around the scabbards of the other two swords.

But the move brought him that much closer to the other's groin, he realized belatedly as moonlight gleamed off the wet tip of the cook's cock just beneath his chin. Sanji still had hold of it too, he could see from the corner of his eyes, and was stroking it slowly. Not enough to get himself off, but just enough to keep the interest up. Hard and slick and gently bouncing.

Zoro frowned. Tried to shift his gaze up to the cook's face again. Failed. Swallowed again, licking his lips slowly, first the top, then the bottom one as he watched that gently bobbing crown disappear and reappear from between slender, clever, damply-gleaming fingers. Felt his own breath pass over the slick wetness of his own lips in short, heated puffs.

"Bastard," he growled. The hand on his head flexed, but didn't pull him closer. No concession there. But he knew that hand would shove him back hard and he'd get a foot in the face if he tried to move closer on his own. Damn the contrary idiot.

"That's not nicely," the cook said, drawing a flicker of Zoro's gaze. Enough for him to see that his expression was now plainly one of faux regret with a touch of that imperious disdain he managed so well. "That's not even _asking_. But you know what? Right now I'm horny as hell because of what you pulled and I just don't give a shit. So _suck_ _me_ , you stupid moss-head bastard...."

And then the hand in his hair was pulling him roughly forward, mashing his lips against his teeth for a moment beneath a harsh onslaught of blunt, damp flesh. Then he was opening them eagerly for the head of Sanji's cock even as it drove past them mercilessly. He took the sleek length of it deep into his mouth, along his tongue, tasting the slick-salty, faintly bitter, earthy tang of him. Leaned forward into it until his chin brushed zipper and his nose touched hair. Breathed deep the body-warm scent of the other's groin.

Both hands clutched at his head then, fingertips digging into his skull. He felt the other man's body curling forward over him, bending low with a poorly-muffled hiss of pleasure.

He groaned around the cock in his mouth, letting his hands drop to the deck just long enough to lay down his swords. Then he reached up to cup those lean hips firmly inside the opened pants, palms closing tight over sharp hip bones in order to draw them closer, swallowing eagerly against the taut flesh filling his mouth.

"Shit! Zoro, you bastard!" the choked words were like music to him as he sucked, tongue curling around hardness, throat working. Gulping and working himself even closer. Taking it deep because he liked it deep. Liked to feel the firm head of Sanji's cock wedge in the back of his throat, almost cutting off his air. Liked to feel it pulse on his tongue with eager need. Liked the bruising slide over his lips as he started a fast rhythm with his hands, flexing those agile hips back and forth in his grasp. Pumping Sanji's cock into his own mouth that way despite the restraining grip on his hair. Fucking himself with it.

He felt the hands in his hair clench almost painfully tight, yanking on it as at first the cook tried to struggle free, to regain control. Zoro just spread his knees wider to brace himself, holding on tighter as air-searing curses rained down on him. Ignored them as well as the subsequent hoarse demands to _stop_ , to _slow down_ , to _wait…_ until he heard _oh god do that again_ as he swirled his tongue around the flare of the head, beneath the roll of delicate foreskin, and into the slit with determination. Tasting and searching until only choked moans followed. He felt the way the lean stomach flexed and jumped against his forehead as he sucked harder, drawing out more thin, bitter fluid to coat his tongue. Swallowing it down. Then doing it all again and again and again; sucking, holding, licking, stroking.

"Bastard!" Sanji gasped, shuddering in his hold now, all fight gone. "This… isn't… this wasn't… s-supposed to… ahhh!"

And then strong hips were jerking forward helplessly and the rush filled his mouth, thick and hot. Splashing against his throat, the back of his tongue. Choking him for an instant before he managed to swallow it down. But even as he swallowed, he was sucking greedily on the pulsing, twitching length, searching for more, breath whistling urgently through his nose. Savoring the flavor, the surge, the scent, right along with the low, hissing near-wail that was coming from the cook's throat.

He steadied them both as Sanji collapsed all the way over him. Limp and gasping. Wound one arm around those trembling legs, bracing the other man as he sucked the last bits of release from a barely softened cock before he let it slip from his mouth to gasp for breath himself, face pressed to thigh. Sucking in a deep lungful of air as he heard his name called again, but this time uttered nearly like a desperate prayer in that rich, husky voice.

His name alone: no curses, no jeering epithets, no mocking endearments. Said in that shattered, needy, _raw_ way he craved so much.

Then _he_ was surging forward, driving the other man down onto his back on the floor of the crow's nest. Spreading him beneath him so that pale hair spilled across darker wood, a black-clad arm falling limp above the hair as he straddled those lean legs. He stared for a frozen instant into hooded eyes -- chest heaving, breath panting harshly -- then his hands were pushing roughly at the thin blue shirt, dragging it high enough to find a nipple on the lean chest. Latching onto the patch of rosy flesh with teeth and lips and sucking hard until it was a sharp bump beneath his tongue. Piercingly aware of the hand clawing at his lower back, the leg curling hard around his thighs as the other's body rocked up into his in response, lithe and taut.

He bit down on the stiff nub and growled. Another shudder rolled through the other. A hand clawed at his neck, his shoulder, pushing at him uselessly.

"Right… pocket," Sanji gasped, throat working, head rolling back. "Pocket!"

He had to lift his own head then. Ask in a thick murmur. "What about it?"

"...o-oil… bastard…"

He bared his teeth in a triumphant grin then, bending back down to swipe at that arch of throat with his tongue. Tasting sweat and tobacco smoke and old cooking. Followed it with a lingering nip of teeth and lips that drew a sharp hiss and the smack of a fist against the side of his head from the other.

"Shitty jerk…! No marks!"

He rumbled in annoyance even as he gentled his hold, lips softening to soothe the skin as his hand fumbled for the indicated pocket. Hoping secretly that a mark would show later so he could look at it and smile knowingly. Which would just infuriate the cook, he knew. Which made it that much more enjoyable to do, of course. His searching hand found a small corked bottle after a moment and drew it out, setting it carefully within reach beside them.

Zoro looked up to find the hooded gaze open just wide enough for moon-silvered eyes to glitter at him. Watching him. The other's face was flushed and faintly relaxed despite the slight twist on the lips below.

He held that gaze as his hands went to work on the undone slacks. Tugging them free of sharp hips impatiently. Dragging boxers and pants down across lean thighs, hands circling each hard column as he bared them, stroking the flex of whip-tough muscle beneath appreciatively. Was briefly annoyed by the need to shift back and yank off heavy shoes so the pants could be tossed aside at last. But then bare legs awaited him. Long. Strong. Agile. He watched them slide up with a rippling flex of muscle, knees bending, thighs spreading wide before him as sturdy feet braced flat against the smooth deck beneath, revealing the still-hard cock and slack ballsack between.

He struggled to calm his breathing, gaze devouring the sight of the half-dressed man spreading himself before him. Suit coat still in place, dress shirt buttoned but crumpled high around the lean chest; he hadn't been wearing the tie from the start, so Zoro could clearly see the pulse that throbbed wildly at the base of the sinewy throat in the open gap of the collar. It almost matched the raw speed of his own, pounding heavily in his groin, in his ears, in his chest.

A hand reached toward him, open, grasping. He bent forward enough for hard fingers to cup his neck and let them drag him down as he crawled between those open thighs.

"Undo your damn pants already, moron," was hissed against his mouth.

He did just that, raking them open impatiently as their mouths caught and sucked at each eagerly other before he had to pull back -- for some reason needing both hands to finally release his aching cock from behind strained buttons to bounce free in the air.

It was dripping already, slick and hot against his rough fingers as he stroked it. Hard and fast. Then an impatient hand shoved the glass bottle against his knuckles even as he glanced down hungrily at the cook's face. At the parted mouth, where from within a quick swipe of curling tongue wet spit-slick lips again. The sight sending a spike of mind-blanking lust through him like a bolt of lightning. Dropped down with a hard thump then, one hand landing beside that pale head, but quickly shifting to trap the upthrust hand, catching a thin wrist in a hard grip as he found those taunting lips with his own. Plundered them recklessly, nipping and biting and plunging his tongue deep into matching heat.

Hard thighs pressed around his waist, clasping him tight. Narrow hips surged up so that the head of the cook's slick-hard cock rubbed along his belly, catching slightly on the rougher skin of the tail end of the scar across his chest. He groaned, the sound echoed in the other's throat as they continued to devour each other.

Somehow he managed to thumb off the little bottle's cork with one hand. Spilled a silky-fine drizzle of oil over his cock and Sanji's pale belly beneath as fingers flexed and spread wide across the back of his head, cradling his skull, pressing him closer.

The bottle went flying, clattering loudly across the well of the crow's nest. Instantly forgotten. His now-unencumbered hand jerked at his own cock impatiently, slicking it thoroughly. Then he groped down between those bowed thighs to find the sleek hole between taut butt cheeks.

He forced a slick finger in through resistant flesh. Swallowed the deep shuddering groan that spilled from the cook's throat eagerly, but ignored the near-painful fisting of the hand in his hair. Pressed his finger deeper, twisting, spreading oil around as best he could on that tense ring as Sanji groaned and writhed beneath him. But his patience was limited. Especially given the way the cook was shaking and squeezing him with thighs and arms and body, working up his own bent thighs with those tight hips, shifting higher onto his lap with every swirl and stroke.

The cook twisted his head away finally, gasping desperately for breath in the curve of his upraised arm. Face hidden as Zoro transferred his mouth to the exposed jaw without hesitation. Lips and tongue tasting, lapping, nipping at flushed skin as he lined up his cock and pushed.

Against hot, clenched flesh. Unyielding and impossible for a moment as the cook called his name again in that broken, heart-stopping way, then he was through; slick cock sinking into that familiar astounding tightness. His oily hand clenched around a sharp hipbone, holding the other steady as he filled him.

He stopped only when he finally reached the limits of the other's body. His balls pressed hard and tight between the sharp curves of muscle that defined the other's ass. Relentlessly deep. Held there for a moment, frozen, his cock twitching and throbbing with the need to move, and absorbed the arch, the helpless quiver, the subtle capitulation that slowly spread all through the taut body under his. Waited and watched and savored.

Because having the cook on his back like this, beneath him, wanton and impaled and _wanting it_ made enduring every kick in the head worth it. And every time he was thrown out of the kitchen with a blistering curse or a boot to the ass. And maybe even every soft woman's cunt the bastard fucked when he went prowling ashore...

Darkness narrowed his vision briefly, focused on the other's face. On closed eyes and open mouth. Heat clawed at his belly. He drew back slowly only to slam back in again. Deep. Fast. The cook quivered and arched but didn't cry out. So he did it again. Slow out. In fast. Building a rhythm.

"Fuck! Zoro…!" The pale head twisted and the eye slivered open, hot and intent. Sanji was shaking. Gasping. Watching him in return. He drove on while the blurred mouth gasped for air beneath, slack and desperate. Lips moving silently now. Begging wordlessly in the way the damn cook would always deny utterly later.

The pinned wrist twisted beneath his grasp, trying to work itself free. He didn't let go. The hand in his hair fell down to his shoulder alone, gripping tight.

He hunched his back, rounding his shoulders as he bend down and sealed that mouth closed again for a moment before Sanji wrenched away. Sucking for breath, moaning, cursing. Zoro dragged the other hand off his shoulder to pin it on the other side of the thrashing head, their fingers laced tight.

"Be quiet, cook," he murmured, rising up on his knees, leaning forward and tipping the other back onto his shoulders as strong ankles crossed behind his back, drawing in him tight. Sanji could take the position; could absorb the stretch and flex, he knew. Oh god how he knew…

Blood throbbing, muscles quivering, Zoro settled in then and went to work.

Driving in. Hips grinding. Pressing down. Feeling the whole of the cook's hot, tight body close around every inch of his cock. Clench tight, then loosen. Again and again. Felt Sanji's fingers flexing, working in his grasp in time with his thrusts. Body twisting. Scent and heat and sweat rising. Practically wrestling, even though the cook was already pinned.

"…let me in…"

"…you're in… you f-fucking seaweed…hea- _unh…_!"

"…deeper… damn you… _augh_ ~!"

He opened his eyes and looked down toward where they joined, watching the other's revived erection bounce against the lean muscle of pale belly as he fucked him, hard and fast now. Stroke after stroke. Watched his cock disappear and reappear from inside the cook's stretched body. Listened eagerly to the quiet suck of slicked flesh into flesh. Absorbed the grunts and groans and broken curses pouring from both of them.

"That's me in you…" he heard himself say as he drove in harder, hearing the sharpening slaps of flesh on flesh. Felt the iron-hard flex of thigh around him. The deadly potential there. "You feel it? Not begging for it now am I, eh, shitty cook? D'you feel me?"

"Unh!" The sharp chin flew back, knobby throat swallowing hard, wide mouth gasping, the pale, silver-washed hair flying across the sun-warped boards of the crow's nest as the other's head tossed wildly.

"I'll stay out of your damn kitchen," he said, licking up that chin, fast and hot, breath heavy, "but only to take your ass later, shitty cook… without asking…like this… just me… You hear me?" And there was the beginnings of a wailing cry from the throat beneath his. Inarticulate and wild. Zoro felt the tremors begin and dove down, clamping his mouth over Sanji's to swallow the shout as the cook came again against his own belly, shirt and jacket crumpled awkwardly around his chest and neck helping to muffle his groans.

Only when Sanji was done and reduced to a slack weight did Zoro let himself go, whipping his head up and releasing his iron control to jerk and quiver and grind deep inside the other as he spurted surge after surge into the cook's ass. Balls crawling up tight, legs shaking, jaw clenched, Zoro groaned out his release low and hard, Sanji arching up helplessly beneath him again in response. So good and hard and at fucking last…

He didn't black out, but things got distinctly hazy for a bit. Leaving him a little fuzzy on just exactly how he ended up disengaged and lying on his side on the bottom of the crow's nest, pants around his ankles and the cook no longer facing him, but pressed back to front against his chest tightly, head pillowed on the same arm that lay beneath his own head. He had pale hair in his face now, tickling his nose.

He buried it deep, breathing in the sweat-musk-smoke scent of the other man. Savored the way he could still feel a shudder or two ripple through the other's body from time to time. Aftershocks. But on the whole the cook was relaxed too, if still breathing a bit hard too.

Pulses finally slowed as breathing calmed. Sweat threatened to cool to a distinct chill -- except in the places where they pressed together. The night breeze had picked up around them, swirling occasionally into the crow's nest in little gusts. Maybe that was why for once the cook didn't immediately shift away, letting Zoro keep his arm around his waist, holding him close.

He shifted, draping a leg between the other's covering him partially. Oddly enough, it felt almost nice to hold the cook like this, he mused as he relaxed into the silence and his growing sleepiness.

"Stupid marimo," the cook breathed when he was nearly asleep, hand flexing over Zoro's at his waist, back burrowing closer to Zoro's chest. "Never said I wouldn't _outside_ the kitchen."

A small smile curving his lips, Zoro closed his eyes.

~end~


End file.
